Page 17 of Hero: Claimed

“Nah. I finished the projects my pops had been working on—it was hard, but I owed him that. Then I wandered for a while. Ended up in Kentucky and found the Lords. Prospected when I was twenty-one.”

“So you’re not from here?”

“Nope. From Nevada.”

“And looking at antiques wouldn’t bother you?”

That’s sweet of her to ask. “I think I’d actually enjoy it. Maybe it’s time I start refurbishing again.”

“Then let’s go to the flea market.”

Even Elise doesn’t know about the refurbishing and she and I have been tight since Boss started bringing her around the club. I don’t talk about my pops with the brothers. It’s shocking as hell that I told Brinley. To be honest, I’m not really sure what made me do it. Somehow sharing that piece of me with her felt right.

When we finish our breakfasts, I pay and take her hand, forcing her to walk next to me back to the truck. Then we go flea marketing. But I have one stop to make first.

“Verizon?” she asks. “What are we doing at Verizon?”

“Be right back.” I hop out of the truck and jog inside the store. I know exactly what I’m after. The salesman helps me pick out the newest iPhone and I add a line to my account. Brin needs a phone. She’s getting a phone.

There she is, sitting in the front seat singing along to the radio again. But instead of new pop songs, she’s belting outQueen of Hearts, that Juice Newton song. Anyone walking past could hear her through the rolled-up windows. I can’t hide the smile blazing across my face knowing that woman has gone through all she’s gone through and can still find it in her to belt out Juice Newton.

I open the door and she immediately turns down the radio volume. “Hey,” she says, breathing heavily.

“Here.” I shove the bag at her. Brin stares at it but doesn’t take it. I stand there holding the thing until I’m forced to physically pick up her hand at the wrist and manipulate her fingers to grasp the plastic handles.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

“You prefer Android?”

“No. I… Levi, I can’t accept this. It’s over a thousand-dollar phone.”

“Not onlycanyou accept it, youwill. Brin, you’re my old lady. You need a phone. I’m not getting my old lady a cheap-ass, piece-of-shit phone.”

Her eyes fill with tears. Then before I know what she’s doing, Brin leans in to kiss me. Not a cheek kiss, but right on the mouth. Those hot tears of hers streak her skin and mine. I wrap one of my hands around the back of her head and the other around her back, lifting her over the console to deepen the kiss.

She likely meant it to be innocent. But the moment her lips touched mine, something snapped inside me and I needed more, so I took more.

God, the little whimpers she makes undo me. I’ve never been kissed like this in my life and the idea that I could have kisses like this for the rest of it gets me actually fucking hard.

It’s finally her who breaks the kiss, those giant melon tits heaving with each gulp of air she struggles to take in. “Wow,” she breathes.

It might make me an asshole, but I smile the cockiest smile from making herwow. I like being the man who makes her wow. Starting the engine, I shift into gear, then rest my hand on her thigh, lacing our fingers together.

“No one has ever given me a gift this nice,” she whispers and I glance over at her but don’t speak, letting her get out whatever she needs to get out. “It was my birthday… the day before I showed up at the compound. My dad didn’t even remember. That was the night he sold me.”

What the fuck do I say to that? That asshat father of hers will never hurt her again so long as I’m breathing because no matter what happens with us, I won’tlet ithappen. Rather than telling her any of that, I turn up the radio and start singing along toThe Gamblerby Kenny Rogers. My voice isn’t near as good as hers, but I don’t care. She joins in and it hits me: This is an important moment for us.

We arrive at the flea market and her eyes go huge as we turn into the parking lot and she’s able to take in the magnitude of the place.I know how she feels—it’s a huge market. Before we get out, I take her new phone, which we had charging during the drive, and we set it up. Passcode. Facial recognition. Apple ID. The works. The last thing I do is download the find-my-friends app.

Brinley wrinkles her brows, scrunching up her face. She’s too cute for her own good and needs to stop that now if she doesn’t want to get kissed again. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“So you always know where I am. We get in there; I go to buy sugar-coated almonds and you wander away. Boom. I’m your friend and you can find me.”

She laughs and it’s a beautiful sound. I add her to my find-your-friends app before we hop out of the truck. And since that amazing kiss, I find myself wanting to touch her. It blows my mind that I want to, but I do.

If anyone told me that I’d walk around a marketplace with my arm around a woman who looks like Brinley, I’d fist-punch ’em and tell ‘em they were crazy. But I’ll be damned if that’s not how we wander the aisles and aisles of vendors.

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